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GARDENS OVERSEAS 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 



THE PRISON SHIPS AND 
OTHER POEMS 

THE PILGRIM KINGS " 
AND OTHER POEMS 



GARDENS OVERSEAS 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

THOMAS WALSH 

Author of 

"the prison ships and other poems," 

'the pugrim kings and other poems," etc. 



NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 

LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 

MCMXVIII 



A" 



^^''y'^'^ 



Copyright, 1Q17, by 
JOHN LANE COMPANY 



BEC 28 1917 

©CU479714 







TO 

MY BROTHER 
EDWARD MARIS WALSH 



For permission to reprint certain of these 
poems the author's thanks are due to the 
courtesy of the Editors of Scribners Magazine, 
House and Garden, the New York Sun, the 
Boston Transcript, Munsey's Magazine, The 
Independent, Lip pine ott' s Magazine, The New 
Orleans Times-Defnocrat, The Ave Maria, The 
Catholic World, The Poetry Review, The Smart 
Setf The Bellman and The Bookman. 



CONTENTS 



FAQS 



Gardens Overseas 13 

MooNRisE ON Manhattan .... 16 

The Great Adventure 20 

The Bells of Roncevaux .... 22 

Saint Francis to the Birds ... 24 

The Stigmata 27 

The Temples 29 

Our Little House 30 

When THE Bird Sings 31 

In the Mushroom Meadows ... 32 

Horace: Vitas Hinnuelo Me Similis 33 

The Breed of Woe 34 

Drifts 36 

To A Senorita of South America . . 37 

Cantiga 39 

After Grief 40 

With the Air-Fleets 42 

Arisen 43 

One Night 44 

The Pride of the Kings .... 46 
vji 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Chrysanthemums 49 

Pindar and Corinna 50 

Aquarelle After Watteau • • • S3 

Caravan Song 54 

To A Dancer of Tanagra .... 55 

Cantilena 57 

On the Lutes of France .... 58 

On the Latin-American Harp ... 61 

To a Friend in Death 63 

Eyes 66 

Hymn to Aurora 67 

A Creole Triptych 69 

"All the Beasts of the Forest" . . 72 

In the Kingdom of the Rose ... 75 

The Pope of the Hills 76 

The Vision of Loukianos, the Arme- 
nian 79 

After "Les Cydalises" of Gerard de 

Nerval 81 

The Vision of Fra Angelico ... 82 

On the Ruins of Rome 84 

The Harbor Fog ....'... 86 

Stars on the Water 88 

To Dante in Ravenna — 1 265-1915 . 90 

On His First Birthday 92 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Prophecy of the Tagus ... 94 

Three Voices 99 

At Memory's Casement loi 

Alhambra Songs 102 

I The Dream of Alahmar 
II In the Booth of the Story-Teller 

III The Night of Almond Blossoms 

IV Zoraya 

V The Market Place 
VI The Caravan 

Sundown 116 

The Charioteer's Grave . . . , 117 

After Rainfall 118 

Pastorale After Mendelsohn . . 119 

Stabat Mater Speciosa 121 

Castles 125 

The Atonement of Ferodach the King i 26 

To A Young Poet 1 29 

A Granny 131 

Ballade for the Sixth Hour . . . 133 

To AN Irish Terrier 135 

April Twenty-third 136 

Quis Desiderio 138 

Quatrains 140 

Mother Most Powerful .... 142 



CONTENTS X 

PAGE 

The Embers Speak 144 

Friar Laurence O'Farrell. — Long- 
ford, 165 1 14S 

In a Garden of Granada .... 148 

Zaphna of Batushkoff 150 

The Night of the Kings .... 153 



GARDENS OVERSEAS 
AND OTHER POEMS 



GARDENS OVERSEAS 

The gardens overseas are sweeter — 
The roof-tree learned it of the wind; 
The poppies owned to blasts unkind; 
The sand stretched white as the surge that 

beat her. 
We shall away ere the clouds grow fleeter, 
Dear brow of the large grey eyes, and 
find 
The gardens overseas are sweeter! 

But vain might Hope or Song entreat her, 
Or golden rose; she smiled, she pined! 
Oh, was my love so poor and blind 
It had at last no voice to greet her, — 
*'The gardens overseas are sweeter!" 

August, igio. 

In gardens overseas, — oh, God, what 
flowers 
Are strewn along the paths and foun- 
tain-place I 

13 



GARDENS OVERSEAS 

What blood-drenched roses, what white 
charnel trace 
Among the lily-fields that once were ours ! 
What vulture-nightingale would haunt 

these bowers! 
What noisome reek and odour foul dis- 
grace, 
In gardens overseas, oh, God, what 
flowers ! 
Hate through the realms of Love usurps 
the powers. 
The groans, the women's shrieks the 

winds efface 
In the night's hollow where the cess- 
pools race! 
Blessed art thou, to sleep away such hours 
In gardens overseas ! Oh, God, — what 
flowers ! — 

August, IQ17. 

In gardens overseas strange ghosts are 
playing 
Among the children, waving spirit 

wands 
To guide their gambols 'mid the flower- 
lands. 

14 



GARDENS OVERSEAS 

Upon the benches loving wraiths delaying 
Clasp their frail arms, the secrets old half- 
saying; 
The widows feel a kiss upon their bands ; 
In gardens overseas, strange ghosts are 

playing— 
The mothers mark a radiant Stranger 
straying 
With light upon His wounds of feet and 

hands: 
"Forbid them not to come" — He smiles 
and stands; 
Whilst thou, Beloved, in thy smooth grave 

staying. 
In gardens overseas, strange ghosts are 
playing— 

August, igi8. 



15 



MOONRISE ON MANHATTAN 

Out in the harbour, silence and the moon 

Beyond the City's roar; 

There screened from bluster of the sea 

The skies and waters strewn 

With stars in outlawry 

Conspire against the splendour of the 
shore. 

For sheer the golden crags and pinnacles 

Lift 'gainst the wave such fretted pagean- 
try 

As ne'er Golconda's legend tells, 

Nor Aztec crater poured 

In yellow answer to the sun its lord. 

Here hive the golden bees 

In their sky-shouldering cells; 

Here 'gainst some promised dawn 

From out their phosphorescent seas 

The stars have laid their spawn. 

How like a pigmy's dreams 

Their El Dorado seems I 
i6 



MOONRISE ON MANHATTAN 

With what poor madness drawn 

Old Nero put his torch to Rome, 

Knowing not spire or dome 

Liquid with gold like these 

That lift restoring nipples to the skies 

To nurse the Pleiades ! 

And thou, O moon, that bearst thy silver 

urn 
So far from thine old temple hills of 

Greece, 
Upon what ancient paths of peace 
Would'st think thou to arise? 
By what memorial empurpled seas 
And columned Parthenon 
Wouldst thou — so strange — return? 
The moss is over Delphi's architrave 
That once thou lookedst serene upon; 
Thine Ephesus is but a grave; 
To naught have come thy Babylon, 
Thine Athens, Latium, and Byzance, 
Thy Salamis, thine Ascalon! — 
Long ages down 
Upon the lily spires of France 
Thine eye beheld the surge of Gothic 

shrines 
Like crowns of thorn on field and town; 

17 



MOONRISE ON MANHATTAN 

Forgotten were thy Delphian pyres, 

Thy sacrificial wines — 

Forgotten in the vehement travail 

Wherein man sought thee as a Holy Grail, 

The consecration of his heart's desires. 

Oh, come not here as on some slavish night 

At Carthage; shed no gleams 

Of witchcraft from Toledo's blight; 

Forego thine ancient domes and mossy 

towers 
By ghostly streams. 
Thy siren haunts upon the deeps; — 
Look down, renewed upon these newer 

bowers 
Where cloaked In gold Manhattan sleeps! 
Despite thy beauty and thy might 
Here still Is fever unassuaged; 
Behind our towers and chimneys caged 
Are hearts that languish in the night. 
Be thou to them both monstrance and pure 

host, 
Their souls' refreshment; be the silver 

coin 
The homeless beggar folds unto his breast. 
Counting him richer than old Croesus' 

boast; 

i8 



MOONRISE ON MANHATTAN 

Be thou the mask of Pierrot dressed, 
The starry carnival to join! 
Proclaim thou here 

A newer gospel ere the dawn comes o'er, 
A newer hope for hearts morose and sere, 
A newer song, a newer ointment pour 
In coronation on Manhattan's shore. 
For Louis H. JVetmore, 



19 



THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

In my heart is the sound of drums 

And the sweep of the bugles calling; 

The day of the Great Adventure comes, 
And the tramp of feet is falling, falling, 

Ominous falling, everywhere, 

By street and lane, by field and square, — 
To answer the Voice appalling! 

One by one they have put down 

The tool, the pen, and the racquet; 
One by one they have donned the brown 
x-lnd the blue, the knapsack and jacket; 
With a smile for the friend of a happier 

day, 
With a kiss for the love that would bid 
them to stay, — 
They are off by the train and packet. 

What fate, what star, what sun, what 
field, 
What sea shall know their daring? 

20 



THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

Shall the battle-reek or the dead calm yield 
Their wreaths that are preparing? 

Shall they merely stand and wait the call? 

Shall they hear it, rush and slay and fall? 
What matter? — their swords are bar- 
ing! 

We stand in the crowds that see them go — 
We who are old and weak, unready, — 

We see the red blood destined to flow 
Flushing their cheeks, as with footstep 
steady. 

With a tramp and a tramp they file along, 

Our brave, our true, our young, our strong. 
And the fever burns us fierce and heady. 

With God, then forth, by sea and land, 
To your Adventure beyond story; 

No Argonaut, no Crusader band 

Ere passed with such exceeding glory; 

Though ye seek fields both strange and 
far, 

Ye are at home where heroes are ! 

Such is the prayer we send your star, — 
Wc who are weak and old and hoary. 



21 



THE BELLS OF RONCEVAUX 

You can hear them as you go 

While the mules creep higher, higher 
Where the torrents overflow 

And each summit lifts a spire; 

Through the vales you hear them 
soaring 

In a silvery chant adoring — 
Hark, the bells of Roncevaux! 

Lone the proud old abbey stands 
Dreaming over lost Navarre; 

Stony lie the folded hands. 
Stony gaze by lamp and star 

They who lit the world of story 

With the soul's first glint of glory — 
'Neath the bells of Roncevaux. 

Knightly comrades, row on row 

In their mountain shrine, forgotten 

By their feudal towns below, — 

There they lie — Fame's first-begotten — 

22 



THE BELLS OF RONCEVAUX 

Helms collapsed and hauberks rust — 
Dust where all the stars are dust — 
Round the bells of Roncevaux. 

Through our hearts their visions steal 
Out of ancient midnights telling 

How they woke the Christmas peal, 

How their Easter chimes went swelling 

Through the springtime morns of old 

Ere the world was deaf and cold 
To the bells of Roncevaux. 



23 



SAINT FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 

Birds, — birds of the air, — 

Glad wings of the mountain and valley 

Flashing around me with scatter of petals 

and rally 
Through ilex and olive in carnival 

choir! — 
Draw near, little sisters, and hearken 
My voice of desire! 
See where the valleys would darken; 
Draw nearer, and list my prayer 
To the Love that hath given 
Your pinions the realms nearest heaven, 
Bladed your wing 
To parry with rain and with hail, 
Decked you for tempests in feathery mail 
And taught you to sing! 
Though but the worm of His wounds i 

implore 
You and cross you and bless you, with 

hand and with mouth — 
Signing North unto South, 
24 



SAINT FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 

Signing West unto East, — 

Let His praise be increased! 

To the North then, ye wings of the 

snow, — 
Albatross, gull, and all nurselings of 

waters at war! 
To the South, ye with emerald plumage 

aglow 
For the grace of His Orient temples and 

bear 
His comforting Love to the moon-stricken 

rose ! 
To the East, O ye larks, from your foun- 
tains 
To gather His alms at morn's lattices pale ! 
Owls to your tombs and your belfries ! — 

O Nightingale, 
Away to your sobbing of an empire's 

woes ! 
But, eagle wings, ye to the West unroll ! — 
Vanguards celestial, chanting o'er the 

mountains I 
Fowls of the deeps, be ye contemplative 

there 
At sundown on His mirrors vast with 

prayer, 

25 



SAINT FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 

Praising His Love that keeps us to His 

soul! 
Warn ye the shepherds, swallows, at 

moonrlse then — 
Swinging like living censers out from eave 

and rafter, — 
And circling doves — Nay, Brother Leo, 

hold not back "Amen," — 
Lest all my heart go winging madly after. 
Forgetful of the little worm and mole I 



26 



THE STIGMATA 

Silent the mountain; on the plains below 
The morning broke in silent waves afar ; 
And in the heart of Francis, late aglow 
With prayer and passion, silence like a 
star. 
For there had passed an angel in the night 
Bearing to heaven his last surrender up : 
"Useless and worthless am I in His sight, 
But yet His servant!" He had drained 
the cup 
Of ultimate sacrifice, when sudden shone 
An orb spread sunlike on the morning 
skies; 
Nearer it flashed and nearer — Seraph-Son 
Of God, wast Thou Thyself revealed 
unto his eyes? 
The six great wings spread cross-wise 
round the form 
Of Christ upon the Tree before him 
bent; 

27 



THE STIGMATA 

There was a voice celestial, sounding warm 

Secrets of heaven unto his soul attent. 
There was the glory and the anguish 
twined 
On those immortal brows; while darts 
of fire 
From hands and feet and side on his in- 
clined, 
Meeting halfway the urge of his desire. 

His side — ah, torment mixed with joy! — 
what wound 
Of love has pierced? Through either 
hand there goes 
A hallowed, grievous nail; unto the 
ground 
His feet are clenched as with Love's 
iron blows. 
So were his hands God-sealed, and so his 
feet 
Imprinted on God's way, and so his side 
Laid open blooming in Love's fire-heat, — 
That to the little griefs of earth he died. 
For John J. Donlan, Ph.D. 



28 



THE TEMPLES 

That Solomon the Wise King might be- 
hold, 

The autumn hills raised high their brows 
of gold; 

He, boasting, cried as from his wars he 
trod, 

"My shrine shall shame ye in the eyes of 
God!" 

But scarce his hoary lips released the word 
When from the heights the wind's deep 

voice was heard; 
The bannered forests roared, and from 

their place 
Swept the dead leaves in scorn against his 

face. 



29 



OUR LITTLE HOUSE 

Our little house upon the hill 

In winter time is strangely still; 

The rooftree, bare of leaves, stands high, 

A candelabrum for the sky, 

And down below the lamplights glow, 

And ours makes answer o'er the snow. 

Our little house upon the hill 
In summer time strange voices fill; 
With ceaseless rustle of the leaves, 
And birds that twitter in the eaves, 
And all the vines entangled so 
The village lights no longer show. 

Our little house upon the hill 
Is just the house of Jack and Jill, 
And whether showing or unseen, 
Hid behind its leafy screen; 
There's a star that points it out 
When the lamp lights are in doubt. 

30 



WHEN THE BIRD SINGS 

When the bird sings, and the morning 
Through the meadow makes reply, 

Who shall hear a note of warning 
In such gladness from the sky? 

All the wildwood laughs with childhood 
When the bird sings sweet and high. 

When the bird sings In the gloaming 
And the fond hands hush the keys, 

Oh, the wings of love are homing 
To that music from the trees. 

Hear ye, hear ye, hearts aweary, 

When the bird sings on the breeze. 

When the bird sings down the river 
Where the willows bathe in gold 

As the autumn moon a-shiver 

Shows thy pathway lone and cold — 

Oh, may God thy heart deliver 
When the bird sings as of old! 

31 



IN THE MUSHROOM MEADOWS 

Sun on the dewy grasslands where late the 

frost hath shone, 
And lo, what elfin cities are these we come 

upon! 
What pigmy domes and thatches, what 

Arab caravan, 
What downy-roofed pagodas that have 

known no touch of man I 
Are these the oldtime meadows? Yes^ the 

wildgrape scents the air; 
The breath of ripened orchards still Is 

incense everywhere; 
Yet do these dawn-encampments bring the 

lurking memories 
Of Egypt and of Burma and the shores of 

China Seas. 



32 



HORACE: VITAS HINNULEO ME 
SIMILIS 

Why, Chloe, like a timid hind 

Upon the rugged mountains flying 
At every motion of the wind 

Affrighted to its mother hieing, — 
Why dost avoid me? 
If but the tender branches move 

Upon the zephyr gently swaying, 
Should lizard rustle in the grove, — 
Through all thy form, see, terror 

playing ! 
No lion, I, from Afric's clime; 
No tiger from the jungle's cover. 
Leave then thy mother; it is time 

That thou shouldst own a lover. 



33 



THE BREED OF WOE 

After the Spanish of Luis Montoto 

Now whither go ye ? — Would that we did 
know 
But who can trace the leaves at midnight 
torn 
From off the storm-swept branches as they 
go 
Upon the mighty tempest's path of 
scorn? 

And where abide ye? — In the refuse heap, 

Our walls and rafters rotting In the 

dust, — 

Dust watered only by the tears we weep, — 

Tears bitter with our need and broken 

trust. 

Had ye no father? — Yea, he dreamt of 
fame 
And scorned the thrifty hoardings of 
the heart, 

34 



THE BREED OF WOE 

He whom the midnight fever overcame 
To sit, his brows with laurel crowned, 
apart. 

What seek ye now? — His legacy decreed. 
The dreamer's treasure buried in the 
sod; 

We are the children of the poet's breed, — 
Refuse us not an alms, for love of God. 



35 



DRIFTS 

With drifts of bloom on the hills, 
And drift of clouds and snow, 
And autumn's leaves, and the rills'. 
And ocean's ceaseless flow, 

Old earth was swung into space 
In the whirl of wind and star; 

The sunlight drifts o'er her face, 
And the moonlight follows afar. 

It was so your young love came 
And passed through my heart on 
its way. 

And as flame is drawn after flame 
My soul after yours must stray; 

And ever amid the great wheel 
Of the stars and the winds and the 
years. 
Together our spirits shall steal 

Through the drifts of smiles and 
tears. 

36 



TO A SENORITA OF SOUTH 
AMERICA 

You have the loveliness of far-off hills; 
Yours is the charm of near familiar 
things ; 
Under your skin of golden Spain there 
spills 
Red blood from Inca and from Quichua 
springs. 

Within your hair soft shadows make their 
home, 
Still mindful of their Orinoco glades; 
Spain's ancient diadem is but your comb; 
Your cheeks' camelia blossom never 
fades. 

Your neck is as the cobra's in its grace; 
Pearls rise and fall at home upon your 
breast; 
There is white slumber in your arms' em- 
brace; 
Your heart is the volcano lain to rest. 

37 



TO A SENORITA 

You walk to music of some vanished court; 
Your ankle crushes down the neck of 
kings ; 
The condor's feather makes your fan in 
sport ; 
Your rosary of gold outshines your 
rings. 

By turns an Inca goddess brave, or saint 
Of cloistered eyes, you love in fire and 
fear, 
Finding us as the mountain snows that 
faint 
Beneath the sun, yet faithful year on 
year. 



38 



CANTIGA 

4fter the Spanish of Manrique, 1^40- 

Let him whose time hath come to go 
Put never faith where he must part; 
Forgetfulness and change of heart 

Are penalties the absent know. 

You would be loved — a lover you? — 
Then pay your court incessant there, 
For hardly are you vanished ere 

Remembrance goes as lightly too. 

Be done with idle hope, and start 

Let him, whose time hath come to go; 

Forgetfulness and change of heart 
Are penalties the absent know. 



39 



AFTER GRIEF 

At first when thou wert gone, thy memory 
Bade song away from out my heart and 

thought ; 
But now the faintest echoings of thee 

Unlock my soul to melodies unsought — 
Strange floods of utmost rapture, utmost 

pain, 
That hush in music but to wake again — 
As though the earth grown fertile under 

sighs 
Gave bloom unto some noontide of the 

skies. 

Perchance 'twas silence came to weed the 
heart 
Of selfish woes that choked its fount 
of songs? — 
Perchance the scars of grief, now healing, 
part 
Like lips to join with joy's seraphic 
throngs ? — 

40 



AFTER GRIEF 

Not for decline of pain, but for pure woe 
Transcending flesh as bards and prophets 

know! 
'Twas fear and silence held my soul in fee 
The more my hope and singing, am I free. 



41 



WITH THE AIR-FLEETS 

We swing to the ultimate offing, — 

But our anchor is dug in a star; 
The while the black squads of the scoffing 

Go battling afar 
To The Infinite, — such is their boasting — 

His riddle to read, — 
As urchins the precipice coasting — 

To face Him indeed. 
See them pass ! — like the flocking of ra- 
vens I 

Do they reach unto Godhead? — Who 
knows? 
From out of their spaces or havens 

No signals disclose ! 
But the star pulls hard at our cable, — 

Shall we loose on their track? 
Or leave them to madness and fable, 

And homeward draw back? 



42 



ARISEN 

At every tomb an angel; 

A flower in every sod; 
And surge of banners white ascending 

From each heart-grief unto God; 

"While nightingale whose sorrows 
Filled ruined fane and grove 

Becomes a very lark to sprinkle 
Earth with songs of joy and love. 

"He is not here but risen!" — ■ 

O little rose, how vain 
To sob it down your dewy trellis 

Hiding in your thorns of pain ! — 

"He is not here but risen!" — 

Ye lily choirs give voice 
Unto the seraph hills; bid ocean, 
Cloud and strand rejoice, rejoice! 



43 



ONE NIGHT 

After the Spanish of Juan Ramon Jimenes 

The ancient spiders with a flutter spread 
Their misty marvels through the with- 
ered flowers; 
The windows by the moonlight pierced 
would shed 
Their trembling garlands pale across 
the bowers. 

The balconies looked over to the south ; 

The night was one immortal and serene; 
From fields afar the newborn springtime's 
mouth 
Wafted a breath of sweetness o'er the 
scene. 

How silent! — Grief had hushed its spec- 
tral moan 
Among the shadowy roses of the sward ^ 
44 



ONE NIGHT 

Love was a fable — shadows overthrown 
Trooped back in myriads from obliv- 
ion's ward. 

The garden's voice was all — empires had 
died — 
The azure stars, in languor having 
known 
The sorrows all the centuries provide, 
With silver crowned me there remote 
and lone. 



45 



THE PRIDE OF THE KINGS 

Two monarchs of the Cymry on a hill 
Taunted each other in the moon's clear 

light, 
"Behold where stretch my fertile fields 

afar!" 
Exclaimed King Nynio. "Where?" asked 

Peibio. 
"There in the reaches of the skies !" And 

then 
King Peibio turned and said, "Look you 

what flocks 
Of kine and sheep are mine that graze 

thereon!" 
"Where?" asked King Nynio. "There, 

the host of stars 
In golden brightness with their shepherd 

moon!" 
"They shall not graze my field!" cried 

Nynio. 

46 



THE PRIDE OF THE KINGS 

"I say they shall !" said Peibio. With that 
They drew their swords and hacked and 

harried there 
With all their people at their backs, until 
King Rhita Gawr of Wales and Ireland 

came 
And conquered both and shaved their 

beards away. 
Then in their anger rose the score and ten 
Of Prydain's king to avenge this burning 

sore 
Of shame on Rhita ; each in turn was met 
And vanquished and his beard was taken 

off. 
Then all the kings of mountain and of 

plain 
Came out against King Rhita's giant 

power; 
But all were beaten, shorn and put away. 
Thus waxing great King Rhita wove a 

cloak 
Wondrous and rare of all the royal 

beards; 
Then sent his messengers to Arthur King 
Of Wales to ask his beard to deck the col- 
lar piece, 

47 



THE PRIDE OF THE KINGS 

Else both his head and beard should he 

require. 
And Arthur met him out on Snowden's 

Mount, 
And cleft his skull, and bore the cloak 

away. 



48 



CHRYSANTHEMUMS 

Shaggy-headed urchins from the gardens 
of Japan 
Now are down our autumn pathways in 

a rough-and-tumble playing, — 
Motley little rioters with caps and 
brooms and banners swaying 
On the blustery weirs and hills, a raga- 
muffin clan I 

Woe unto the palaces of summer sacked 
and blown ! 
Not a thicket, lane or highway but their 

scattered spoils are twining! 
Goths are at our trellised porches — 
through our gardens comets signing 
Doom of blast and frost and snowdrift 
on the summer's throne I 



49 



PINDAR AND CORINNA 

"CoRiNNA, Hail the Victress! Evoae!" 
The call of feasting down from Tana- 

gra. — 
"Corinna ! Evoae !" — by twilight hills 
And river and the fume of altar flames, 
With the great call of music, where glad 

youths 
Twining like garlands, on their rhythmic 

steps, 
Bear her, new-crowned, along the shout- 
ing walls 
And out between the vineyards to her 

home. 
Five times the victor's crown had pressed 

those brows 
Whose beauty sculptured into marble 

shone 
Already in the Muses' shrines; — five times 
Had she, breasting her lyre beneath the 

gold 

50 



PINDAR AND CORINNA 

Of hair unfilleted, struck forth her songs 
Of home, of love, of old familiar names — 
Dreams such as humble-hearted mothers 

know, 
Echoes of little lanes and woodslde shrines. 
Then the vast festal throngs reached forth 

to her 
Lovingly, gladly, and for memory's sake 
Forgot the mighty singing and the art 
Of oldtlme Greece, forgot the rules, for- 

got ^ 
Their glorious past, In joyance of their 

home. 
And now a dark indignant figure paced 
The shadows towards Thebes; alone he 

went 
High Pindar, who had lost — he Lord of 

Song — 
The prize to her a woman of the hills. 
Black rage was in his heart with scorn of 

men 
And all the littleness of life; half-blind 
He strode along the rocky steeps and out 
Against the threshold of the starry skies. 
There night crept down to welcome him; 

the breeze 

51 



PINDAR AND CORINNA 

Chill from the outer seas would cool his 

brows ; 
The stars swung round him till he raised 

his head 
Lone as some mountain peak beneath its 

snows, 
And hatred died and scorn upon his lips 
Melted to an adoring prayer, as calm 
Ethereal touched his soul awake with 

smiles. 
For Charles L. O'Donnell, C.S.C. 



52 



AQUARELLE AFTER WATTEAU 

Shepherdess, — nay, go not yet 
While the trees are dripping wet 

From the rain ! 
Come, sit here beneath the eaves 
Of the grotto till the leaves 

Dry again. 
Every lamb is in the fold 
Huddled safely from the cold 

And the dews; 
Stay, the sun will soon appear 
With a smile to find you here — 

Don't refuse ! 
See, the mists have pearled your hair 
And your hands are — I declare ! 

Cold as stone ! 
Nay, 'tis but my arm that slips 
'Round your waist — and these my lips 

'Gainst your ownl 



53 



CARAVAN SONG 

Tears for the jasmines, — tears to slake 
the roses 
I bring thy garden through Love's des- 
ert sun; 
Lo, how with bloom and scent each bud 
uncloses ! — 
Lo, how my task of tears is never done ! 



54 



TO A DANCER OF TANAGRA 

Around thee, barefoot girl, there float 
The comely draperies of Greece; 

Still sways thy form as to some note 
Of childhood that can never cease. 

Ho, for thy crystal skies ! — the throngs 
In Prosperine's or Dion's rite 

Trailing the mountain towns with songs 
And garlands, — till again the night 

Finds in thy votive breast a flame 
As on the altars. Hush, — dost hear 

Thy lover whispering thy name, 
Corinna, — or was't Thelaire? 

Soft through the moonlit vines the flute 
Trills forth, — and thou art fain to 
dance, 

Lithe girl of Tanagra. How mute 
The syrinx that could so entrance ! — 

55 



TO A DANCER OF TANAGRA 

Now o'er our fireplace let no blast 
Nor memory touch thee with regret; 
Dance on, — frail terra-cotta cast, — 
Our hearts make music yet. 

For Emma JVillard Scudder Keyes. 



j« 



CANTILENA 

Spring in young hearts sets tenderness, 

In old hearts, memories; 
And who shall say what boon is less, — 

Or happier who of these? — 
With the glint, and song, and flower among 

The nests of love and laughter, — 
Or with sigh, and scent of heart-blooms 
spent. 

And the haunting beauty after? — 
Spring from young hearts reaps tender- 
ness. 

From old hearts, memories. 



57 



ON THE LUTES OF FRANCE 

Mandoline 

They sound their serenades; 

They listen still and fair; 
Beneath the soft trees' shades 

They speak the old words there. 

'Tis Tircis' voice I hear, 
Aminto's voice as well; 

Clitandre sings his dear; 
Damis his loves would tell. 

Their silken waistcoats tight, 
Their flowing robes in train, 

Their elegance and light. 

Their shadow's soft blue stain. 

In the extatic haze 

Of moonlight rose and pearl 
The mandolin still plays 

Amid the breeze's whirl. 
58 



ON THE LUTES OF FRANCE 
A Dream 

Some fair retirement where always 

The nights shall be serene and still — 

With shadowless and shining days, 

With songs to speak their sovereign will. 

Some white old house upon the heights, 
And there, perchance, some roguish 
maid 

To calm thy heart with her delights 
Till every care aside is laid. — 
A garden to the winds displayed, 

Its terrace perfumed with the pines — 

Some books with Horace's fair lines. 



59 



ON THE LUTES OF FRANCE 

The Faun 

A TERRA-COTTA Faun grimaces 
Smiling o'er his grassy places, 
Doubtless in his foresight keen 
Thinking on the hapless scene 
Soon to mock this pause serene, 
That hath led me and hath led thee 
In pilgrim's doleful vagrancy 
Unto this moment now, that comes 
To sweep us to the sound of drums. 



60 



ON THE LATIN AMERICAN HARP 

I 

Nightfall in the Tropics 

After the Spanish of Ruben Dario of 
Nicaragua. 

There Is twilight grey and gloomy 
Where the sea its velvet trails; 
Out across the heavens roomy 
Draw the veils. 

Bitter and sonorous rises 

The complaint from out the deeps, 
And the wave the wind surprises 
Weeps. 

Viols there amid the gloaming 

Hail the sun that dies, 
And the white spray in its foaming, 

"Miserere" sighs. 
6i 



ON THE LATIN AMERICAN HARP 

Harmony the heavens embraces, 
And the breeze is lifting free 

To the chanting of the races 
Of the sea. 

Clarions of horizons calling 
Strike a symphony most rare, 

As if mountain voices falling 
Vibrate there. 

As though dread unseen were wak- 
ing, 

As though awesome echoes bore 
On the distant breeze's quaking 

The lion's roar. 



62 



I 

TO A FRIEND IN DEATH 

After the Spanish of Giiillermo Valencia 
of Colombia 

Thou, gentle youth, wast rival in thy grace 
And doom with fair Antinous of old, 
Since thee, as well as him, the waters 
cold 
Snatched from great Hadrian's imperial 

place. 
How brief thine hours ! How glooms thy 
breast efface ! — 
The rose of Life fell leafless in thy 

hold; 
At thy first vows grim Destiny unstoled 
Thy broken urn and spilt thy wine 
apace — 

I would decipher through thy horoscope 
Glooms of unconquerable night, and 
mould 

63 



TO A FRIEND IN DEATH 

Thine image with such melancholy 
charms 
That thy half-troubled grace should learn 
of hope, 
And set thy memory 'gainst the fables 
told 
Of him who perished in the Nile's 
pale arms. 



II 

SURSUM 

A PALLID taper its long prayer recites 
Before the altar, where the censers 

spread 
Their lifting clouds, and bells toll out 
their dread. 
In grief's delirious sanctuary rites. 
There — like the poor Assisian — invites 
A cloistered form the peace All-Hal- 
lowed; 
Against the dismal portals of the dead 
Resting his weary brows for heavenly 
flights. 

64 



SURSUM 

Grant me the honey-taste of the Divine; 
Grant me the ancient parchments' ruddy 

sign 
Of holy psalmody to read and prize 1 
For I would mount the heights immortal 

crowned, 
Where the dark night is 'mid the glories 

drowned, 
And gaze on God, into His azure eyes I 



65 



EYES 

After the Spanish of Antonio Gomez 
Restrepo of Colombia 

There are eyes so full of dreams 
That they show us scenes of yore; 
Eyes whose pensive glances pour 

Light of other skies and streams; 

Eyes of grief that nourish themes 
Dimly seen, as from the shore 
Halcyon wings that wander o'er 

Broken waves and clouded gleams. 

Eyes there be whose sorrows fair 
Teach oblivion from the skies 

To the hearts whose cross is there; 
Eyes that sweet old gladness prize, 

Whose ethereal cloudings bear 
Stars from a lost Paradise. 



66 



HYMN TO AURORA 

After the Spanish of Julio Florez of 
Colombia 

Thou heavenly butterfly 

Whose great and tenuous wings 

Their gold and rose spread high; 

Thou that in ample heaven's sight 

Over the Andes' mighty summits flings 

In bland and radiant flight! — 

From what far garden-place, 

O Butterfly divine, dost race? — 
What heavenly branch or vine 
Gives thee sustaining wine? — 
Perchance the gardens of the night 
Strengthened thy wings of light? — 

What gleaming flower shall ease 

Thine infinite thirst? 
Perchance the golden leas 

Where heaven's star-blooms burst? 
67 



HYMN TO AURORA 

Perchance the bright horizons filled 

With glorious rays, 
Where gold dust of thy wings is spilled 

O'er seas and mountain ways? — 

Thou heavenly butterfly 
Come on my breast to lie; 
From thy transcendant sphere 
Seek out our poor world here, 
Ere thee in winging turn 
To ashes day shall burn I 



68 



A CREOLE TRIPTYCH 

After the Spanish of Jose Santos Chocano 
of Peru. 

I 

The Dandy 

His shirt of silk and trappings show his 

style; 

A wave of lace is bulging at his chest; 

And at his belt there is a pistol dressed, 

Shoved down at every moment's frown or 

smile. 
In his pyramidal sombrero, while 

He keeps his lonely state, garbed in his 

best, 
And on his lassooed steed he takes his 
rest. 
His saddle makes the very throne seem 
vile. 

69 



A CREOLE TRIPTYCH 

Firmly he keeps his seat; crack goes his 

whip; 
The gleaming spurs against the horse's 

side, 
In all his glory rides he on his trip; 
So that you doubt if his Olympic form 
Would show man's triumph o'er the 

brute's fierce pride, 
Or 'tis some sculpture moving live and 

warm. 



II 

The Plainsman 

In his bronze face a something sombre 
shows, 
Perhaps the effect of distances that 

spread 
In oceans of pure verdure round his 
shed. 
Toiling he marks his furrow holdings 

close; 
Beneath his kindly hand his harvest grows; 
He breaks his foal and bits him where 
he fed 

70 



A CREOLE TRIPTYCH 

Upon the plain; and by some trifle led, 
Plunges in midstream where the torrent 
flows. 

A single blow and a great bull lies low; 

Across the thicket his machete tears, 
And so to love with singing does he go; 
For love of woman on his spirit acts, 

And on his savage nature radiance 
bears. 
Like some light rainbow o'er the cataracts. 

Ill 

The Gaucho 

He Is the Pampa's very own, — a bit 
Of her brave soil that spreads beneath 

the sun; 
Wanting a savage steed, he bridles one 

To herd his cattle, — his the arm for It. 

Then to the sound of his guitar will sit 
In his beloved's arms, his toiling done. 
And pour an anguished chant to twirl 
and run 

Like his lassoo, his sad lament to fit. 

71 



A CREOLE TRIPTYCH 

The Pampa is the frame that bounds the 
thirst 
The gaucho feels in his desire to break 
The weariness with which the land seems 

cursed; 
Its green monotony afar displayed 

Seems where some great fatigue its rest 
would take, 
Or reaches onward as a hope betrayed. 



72 



"ALL THE BEASTS OF THE 
FOREST" 

"All the beasts of the forest 

Do move in the night" — 
So the heart of the dreamer 

Goes stealthy and light 
Through the horrors forgotten, 

Unspoken of men — 
The greed and the vengeance 

Of mountain and fen. 
Yea, the dull heart disgorges 

The lecherous things 
That day calls abortions; 

Sleep drags our vain wings 
Through the realms of the Gorgons, 

Through blood and the mire 
And blasphemous orgy 

And sweat of desire. 
There is star-conflagration; 

The world-crunch ; the cry 
Of the pine that is stricken; 

The seas are laid dry; — 

73 



"THE BEASTS OF THE FOREST" 

A revel of monsters 

And demigods breaks 
Through a cloud-tumbled fastness 

Of canons and lakes. 
They call me, they sign me 

In chaos of dreams — 
I reach for your handclasp — 

How lifeless it seems ! — 
Alone where I smother 

Entranced in affright; 
"All the beasts of the forest 

Do move in the night I" 



74 



IN THE KINGDOM OF THE ROSE 

Across the kingdom of the rose 
Old Father Time a pilgrim goes, 

And fills his scrip and bends his knee 
At many a roadside priory 
Of daffodil and fleur-de-lis — 
In the kingdom of the rose. 

Like a lighted shrine the orchard glows 
Down blosmy lanes ; the lily shows 

In the hillside sweep of lance and spear 
That silver tournaments are near, — 
And the poppy's gipsy camps appear 
In the kingdom of the rose. 

But out of some high country blows 
A chiming sweet as Roncevaux's 

To guide the pilgrim to his shrine, — 
To tell me soon this heart of mine 
With Love's own flower shall intertwine 
In the kingdom of the rose. 
75 



THE POPE OF THE HILLS 

Never a word will you hear at Maynooth 
Of the pope they have lost; 'tis a bit of 

the truth 
That is whispered at noontide by dingle 

and glen 
Mid the tangle of daisies when lasses and 

men 
Sit down from the harvest with stories of 

war 
And of wonderment strange to the cities 

afar. 
'Tis a secret avoided at wake and at feast 
That is under the ban of the bishop and 

priest, 
But is hinted at slyly as sudden winds sigh 
In the chimney when blustery nights fill 

the sky, — 
The story how Patsey the lad became pope 
And was crowned with the crown and was 

coped with the cope, 

76 



THE POPE OF THE HILLS 

How he wore the great ring on the back 

of his fist. 
And held the white shoes on his feet to be 

kissed; 
But one morning when springtime was 

burgeoning gay 
To the notes of the lark he was gathered 

away 
And over the mountains of Erin was gone 
Through the gates of the morning and 

mists of the dawn. 
Then a heavier loneliness fell over Rome 
And a holier light lit the hillsides of home, 
For it seemed in the spring that the smile 

of the lad 
Down the blossomy trellises was to be 

had; 
That the birds felt a stirring and sang in 

their nest 
When the meads and sheep-pastures his 

light footing pressed; 
That the violet glanced with his sparkle 

of blue, 
That the light of his hyssop shone out in 

the dew. 
That over the lover on tryst waiting there 

77 



THE POPE OF THE HILLS 

Came touch of his blessing on lips and on 

hair. 
There's many a tinker and fiddler could 

say 
Strange things of the tapers that lighted 

their way; 
Many a crone as she drowsed at her 

prayers 
Heard him chanting and blessing the still 

vesper airs; 
But never could any one answer and tell 
A word that could lead to his haunt in the 

dell, 
When the purple processions at twilight 

drew near 
And the cardinals hunted and bishops 

would hear 
Where the young pope was lurking; none 

ever could give 
The track where he wandered, the place 

where he'd live, 
Save over the mountains to beckon them 

on 
To the gates of the morning and mists of 

the dawn. 



78 



THE VISION OF LOUKIANOS, THE 
ARMENIAN 

When unto heaven the souls elect take 
flight 
The Master keeps the promise He hath 
made; 
He binds their brows with diadems of 
light; 
He decks their hands with ruby rings 
and jade. 

Angels and virgins greet them with their 

songs; 
The strings eternal glad them with sweet 

sound; 
Like stars agleam they see the saints in 

throngs 
And float with them in ecstasy profound. 

Upon this dream are anchored all my joys ; 
Come, Mother Mary, take me by the 
hand 

79 



THE VISION OF LOUKIANOS 

And lead me out where heaven its bloom 
deploys, — 
So I may breathe the perfumes of that 
land. 



80 



AFTER "LES CYDALISES" OF GER- 
ARD DE NERVAL 

Where now our oldtlme lovers? — 
They sleep within the tomb; 

A fairer sky uncovers 

The glad fields where they bloom. 

The lily-pale betrothed 

The loved-one uncontrlte; 
The child in blossom clothed 

Who flowered but for the night. 

Eternity unclouded 

Grows winsome for their eyes; 
O lights on earth now shrouded, 

Look down across the skies I 



8i 



THE VISION OF FRA ANGELICO 

The glint of seraph wings had stirred all 
day 
In sunshine round him, till in rapture 
faint 
He dreamt an Angel came, and caught 
away 
His falling brushes, and began to paint. 

Till swiftly traced upon the radiant wall 
Shone Nazareth's little room, as when 
the prayer 
"Hail, full of Grace" was uttered first of 
all; 
Then Gabriel's self, he knew, was paint- 
ing there. 

But when at twilight hour the Brothers 
came. 
They saw a picture there so strangely 
done 

82 



THE VISION OF FRA ANGELICO 

That one indignant cried aloud, "For 
shame — " 
Whilst others veiled their eyes as from 
the sun. 

"Nay, our Angelico is surely mad," 

The Prior mused, "mere senseless stuff 
it seems." — 
"iVh, 'tis Our Lady's self," — a novice lad 
Exclaimed, " — 'tis so she smiles at me 
in dreams!" 

Whereat the gentle master woke, and saw 
How great their trouble and their un- 
belief, — 
The praise and quarrelling, the shame and 
awe 
That stirred his Brothers, and was filled 
with grief; 

And rising, took his brushes once again, 
And sighed, and trembled, tracing o'er 
each line : — 
"Yea, my poor human hand must make it 
plain!"— 
And as they looked all hailed the work 
divinCi 

§3 



ON THE RUINS OF ROME 

From the Italian of Castiglione, 1478- 
1529 

Ye sovereign hills, and hallowed disarray 
Where what was Rome hath perished 

save the name ! 
Alas, ye mean memorials of a fame 
And mortal excellence too rare to stay! 
Column, and arch, and theatre's display, 
The sculptured pomp, the glorious ac- 
claim, — 
How soon to unremembering dust you 
came, — 
How soon but fable for the boors to say I 

What though a little span your art divine 
Did cope with Time, — on stealthy step 
and slow 
He tracked you down, and levelled 
with disdain; 
84 



ON THE RUINS OF ROME 

Then let me bear my longings, nor repine, 
Knowing the power that could such 

might o'erthrow 
Can bring as well the ending of my pain. 



THE HARBOUR FOG 

Fog in the harbour, — sky and waterway 
Lost In a phantom otherworld, where 

boom 
Of funnels and the sharp "Give room, 
give room!" 
Of bells and paddles speak the night's dis- 
may. 
Their sheer, sky-shouldering cities swathed 
in grey. 
The crowded ferries probe their paths 

of gloom 
Along the wharves of home, the cliffs 
of doom, 
Like glowworms in a cobweb void astray. 

Hope in the homeward-toiling hearts, and 
fear 
But half-confessed; their pulses urge, — 
yet no, 
Some warning bell of reason tolls, "Not 
here 

86 



THE HARBOUR FOG 

Is trust in self enough; a higher guide 
Of mutual faith must rule you as you go; 

None is self-pilot on the harbour 
tide." 



87 



STARS ON THE WATER 

Stars on the water, — on my soul, thine 
eyes; 
Thus for no sunlight shall I ask, nor 

dreams 
The moon sends floating down by phan- 
tom streams, 
If to the calm that on my spirit lies 
Thy starlight come interpreting the skies. 
Yea, even at noontide have I caught far 

themes 
Celestial glinting on me like the beams 
To which by night the troubled surge re- 
plies. 

Stars on the water, there is twilight now 
Upon my valleys, and the soft winds 

cease 
And in my heart, beloved, there is 



peace! 



88 



STARS ON THE WATER 

Lo, 'tis the trysting hour; unto thy 
gaze 
I lift the mirror of my soul and vow 

To keep thy light unclouded through 
the days. 



«9 



TO DANTE IN RAVENNA— 1265- 
1915 

There in thy marble of Ravenna, — Dust 
Mightier than an empire's, — art thou 

stirred 
With scorn reverberate against the herd 
That with such contumely razed and 

thrust 
Thy citadels of law, thy soul's high trust, 
Down to the levels their mean hearts 

preferred? — 
Mocking thy learning as a scheme ab- 
surd, 
And striking from thy lyre but themes of 
lust? — 

Lo, their proud vaunt! — where each is 
priest and king. 
And each superior deems his race and 

creed, — 
The cannon mouths their brother- 
hood of man! — 
90 



TO DANTE IN RAVENNA 

Thy pledge was Fatherhood; Time's sa- 
cred ring 

Of rights with duties, thy concordant 
plan; 

Dust of Ravenna, — thine Is scorn In- 
deed I 



91 



ON HIS FIRST BIRTHDAY 

To A. L. K. 

With hopes so rich enladen, with thy 
store 
Of worth ancestral, faith, and sturdy 

dreams, 
Go, little bark of manhood, whither 
streams 
This life we know to that uncharted shore 
Thy patent-royal grants I Let cannon 
roar, 
And pennon speed thee o'er the sea 

where gleams 
A Whitsun light upon thy brow that 
seems 
Anoint to rule, and conquer, and explore. 

Up with the mainsail, all our blessings 
said. 
Alone beyond earth's guidance must 
thou fare 

92 



ON HIS FIRST BIRTHDAY 

With naught but wind, and star, and wave 
ahead; 
Away, and whither thy firm helm can 
bear! 
Be El Dorado thine ! Life's fountains 
shed 
Eternal youth on all thy purpose there ! 



93 



THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS 

From the Spanish of Fray Luis de Leon, 
Salamanca, 1528-1591. 

In dalliance Roderic the King 

Delayed with fair La Cava by the side 

Of Tagus' gorge, till clamouring 
The river-god from out the tide 
Emerged, and in a voice prophetic 
cried: — 

"Licentious despot, — would you choose 
Such hour for weakness — now when 
thunders sound, 
And trumpetings of death confuse ! — 
When clash and shout of Mars astound 
Our land, and conflagration spreads 
around! — 

"Alas, for thy mere pleasure, how 

Our country groans ! — That lovely one 
(Oday 
Unhallowed of her birth !) doth now 
94 



THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS 

On Spain bring weeping and dismay 
To sweep the sceptre of the Goths 
away I 

"Flames, supplications, cries of war. 
Laments of death and anguish, and dis- 
grace, 
That brief embrace is twining for! — 
Involving you and all the race 
In shame the ages never shall efface ! 

"A yoke of slavery on the lands 

They till at Constantina, — where the 
stream 
Of Ebro — where Sansueiia's strands. 
And Lusitania's reach extreme — 
On all the spacious Spains, — a doom 
supreme 1". 

"Hark, out of Cadiz raging calls 

Count Julian's voice to speak a father's 
wrongs ! 
No shame of treachery appals — 
He conjures up avenging throngs 
To waste the kingdom that to you be- 
longs I 

95 



THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS 

"Adown the morn the trumpet's throat 
Proclaims the doom I See on Morocco's 
shore 
What thronging where his banners float 
Upon the winds conspired to pour 
So swift on Spain the Moslem con- 
queror I 

"The cruel Arab lifts his lance 

And shakes the gleaming challenge to 
the wind; 
Swiftly his light flotillas dance 

Upon their way of warfare blind, — 
I see their numbers swarming in my 
mind! 

"The earth is hidden where they tread; 
Their sails blot out the intervening sea ; 

Their clamours strike the heavens with 
dread; 
The sun from out the noon would flee 
Before the dust-cloud and obscurity I 

"Alas, how ardently their prows 

Surmount the waves I What sinews bend 
the oar 

96 



THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS 

As every galley onward ploughs, 

And how the deeps must foam and roar 
Where they glide hissing on the Spanish 
shore ! 

"To Eolus their sails are given, 

And over Hercules' unguarded Straits 

Their sharpened prows of steel are driven 
Where Neptune the great father waits 
To grant them ingress by his open gates ! 

"Alas ! poor wretch, that bosom dear 
Can still bewitch you? — that you draw 
no sword' 

When such calamities you hear, — 
When even upon the sacred ford 
Tarifa falls already to the horde? 

"Out in the saddle! Spread your wing 
Across the mountains ! Spare not on 
the plain 

Your bloody spurs! There brandishing 
The goad, come thundering amain 
Upon them, Roderic, v/ith blade Insane ! 

"But oh I what travail now prepares — 
What years of sweat and carnage are 
ordained 

97 



THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS 

On him who shield and breastplate 

bears, — 
On princelings who might else have 

reigned, — 
On horse and rider to destruction 

chained 1 

"Thou, Stream of Betis, shalt be dyed 
With mingling blood of kinsmen and of 
foes I 
Unto the sea, how soon ! thy tide 
With broken wrack of helmets flows 
And surge of corpses kingly in their 
woesl 

"Five days of blood infuriate 

The God of War unloosens on the plains 

Where meet the swarming hordes of hate; 
The sixth, alas ! thy doom ordains — 
O land beloved — in barbarian chains!" 



98 



THREE VOICES 

Soprano: 

Upon the rack of love despised I lay 
And one at midnight came to hush my 

groan 
With — "Patience, brother, for at break 

of day 
Thou shalt forget" — that word wrenched 

bone from bone. 

Contralto: 

I live, — O God, my heart is beating still ! — 
Yea, this that walks and eats and sleeps, 
is II 
What of the light that fled these ashes 
chill— 
My soul of dreams — ? I live to see it 
die. 

Basso : 

To-night I weary of my book of doubt, 
Its rhymes and sciences of sneer and 
slime ; 

99 



THREE VOICES 

I throw my casement wide where clear 
shine out 
God's seals still molten on the scrolls of 
Time. 



100 



AT MEMORY'S CASEMENT 

Upon the blossom branch in spring 
There once would come a bird and sing; 
There once would sound a mellow song 
Around my heart the whole night long. 

Nor ever lark at break of day 
But took me on its silvery way; 
Nor nightingale by star and rose 
But at my heart outpoured its woes. 

Till now, their voices hushed in tears, 
With springtime passed adown the years, 
My heart which hath their message known 
At Memory's casement sings alone. 



lOI 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 
I 

The Dream of Alahmar 

— "Rouse thee, Alahmar!" cried the An- 
gel's voice, — 

"Rise, Monarch of Granada, and rejoice 

That all thy wanderings and warfare 
passed, 

Lo, to Alhambra thou art come at last I 

Yea, though thy body be with toils out- 
worn — 

Thy raiment tattered — thy white beard 
unshorn — 

Though yet beside thee from the last ad- 
vance 

Lie bloody shield, and scimitar, and 
lance, — 

Rouse thee and speak thy will! — for I, 
Djabir, 

102 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Whose holy prescience led thee year by 

year 
By devious paths o'er seas and mountain 

ways, 
Through craft and bloodshed — all for 

Allah's praise I 
Lo, I am here to wait thy last behest! — " 
Then spoke Alahmar: "Grant me but to 

rest, 
To rest this brain and body waxing old 
And soon to sink again into the mould — 
A place of rest, O Prince of spells, 

Djabir, — 
Weave thou my dreams into a palace here. 
Here let its arches swing their fold on fold 
As on the desert did our tents of old 
With fringe and blazonment along the 

brink 
Of cool oases. Let us drowsing think 
Its slender pillars are the palmtrees frail 
That gave us food and shelter without fail. 
For ornament our sacred carpets use, 
And tile the walls with burnished golds 

and blues 
And shimmering greens to match the pea- 
cock plumes 

103; 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

That trailed adown the royal garden 

glooms 
Of proud Damascus or of Isphahan 
What time our headsmen through their 

portals ran. 
Go, sack a hundred treasuries afar 
For pearls and rubies ! Strip each rich 

bazaar 
From Fez and Cairo unto Hindostan 
Of lamps and weavings ! Track each cara- 
van 
For silken carpets! — till Alahmar's halls 
Shall gleam like some old capital that 

falls— 
Throughout whose streets are treasures 

spilled and strewn 
Where slaves and concubines dishevelled 

swoon, 
And brows with diadems are in the dust, 
The while our Caliphs sweeping like the 

gust 
Across the mountain forests gold and sere, 
Trample them all — so deck Alhambra 

here I 
But, lest at length these storied splendours 

pall, 

104 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Range lordly gardens here as in Bengal, 
With hidden courts of cypress and of rose 
Shading the pools in tints as soft as those 
We marked of old within beloved eyes; 
Reaches of poppy whose red border lies 
By long canals reflected; tiled retreats 
Of fig and myrtle; terraced walks and 

seats 
'Mong tamarisk and citron, whence to gaze 
Down on Granada's rooftops in the haze 
Of noontide while the swaying banks of 

rose 
All day make signal to the mountain snows. 
Yea, let there be a rush of waters cool 
Down to Granada from each spring and 

pool. 
And mountain torrent, — waters that shall 

speak 
Unto our hearts of boyhood streams that 

seek 
The Persian Gulf — like oldtime Bende- 

meer, 
Or Indus where our parching lips found 

cheer. 
Throughout a hundred basins let them 

flow 

105 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Murmuring like kisses of the long-ago; 
Basins whose gold-stained arabesques of 

stone 
Shall bear such legendries as — "God 

Alone 
Most-High hath Conquest"; fonts of 

chrysophrase 
Above whose Lions, Cufic scrolls em- 
blaze : — 
"Lo, here are waters copious as the 

Nile" 

"Yea, terrible in battle He whose smile 
Hath lit these gardens." — When their 

floods have run 
Through flowery labyrinths of shade and 

sun 
And moss-stained vase and alabaster 

niche, 
From off the summits let their waters 

pitch 
And foam through cypress gorges to the 

town. 
Like silver largess that I scatter down. 
Then let the mountains gather round, and 

lean 

io6 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Their brows of snow against my groves 
of green — 

By day let steel-clad horsemen ceaseless 
climb 

To hear the mandate of their lord sub- 
lime; 

By night — the hint of cymbals like the 
spray 

Of moonlight scattered; flutes that stay 

The sob of nightingales; the silvery beat 

Half-heard, half-seen — of fair Castilian 
feet. 

Then rest — then sleep ! Ah, Allah's 

arms shall hold 

Place for Alahmar whose account is told; 

Who prayed, — who toiled, — who con- 
quered, — and is old!" 

II 

In the Booth of the Story-Teller 

Upon a stream which from Alhambra 

down 
Went tumbling through the alleys of the 

town,— 

107 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Ay, ay dt mi! — one listless noontide hour 
Young Azafia tossed an almond flower, — 
Ay, ay di mi! — the stars are fated so ! — 
And swift a slave was to the council hall 
To whisper crafty Abu-Said all, 
As down the steeps of rock and moss and 

spray- 
Below the Paupers' Bridge they traced its 

way, 
Until along the market-place it passed 
And some poor hag reached out and 

caught it fast. 
When this to Abu-Said's ear was told, 
He sent the pauper down his purse of gold. 
Ay, ay di mi! — the stars are fated so ! — 
Pale Azafia, neither knew nor cared. 
Child of the desert, whither it had fared. 
But soon again, while lurked the slave to 

see. 
Shook on the stream a blossom from the 

tree. 
Ay, ay di mi! — the stars are fated so ! — 
Down in Granada's prison desolate 
In chains they held as prisoner of state 
Guzman De Lara who for solace there 
Touched on his lute some old Biscayan air. 
io8 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

He saw the flower, and through the bars 

he caught 
And pressed it to his lips in tender thought 
Of youth and home. — That night, — ay, ay 

di ?nif — 
There was the cry of one in agony, 
And on the stream against his iron door 
At break of day was seen the dripping 

gore. 
Ay, ay di mi! — the stars are fated so ! — 

III 

The Night of Almond Blossoms 

The blossoms range their silver tents 

At twilight down the tavern lane ; 
The south wind strays to barter scents 

Around no rose in vain. 
And see, Beloved, where the sun 

Still waits thy lute's soft laughter. 
Although the stars come one by one, 

And all the night flocks after. 

And now the mule-bells die away. 
Each cool posada claims a guest 
109 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Who folds his beast and pack away 

And gladly turns to rest; 
While, hark ! without thy mocking gate 

Thine ivory castanets I hear, 
The while thy master stealing late 

Hath gained the pathway near. 

Ay, ay di mi! 'tis mine all night 

To guard thy moonlit walls and weep, 
Till dawn's last toper up the white 

Alhambra reels to sleep; 
Then from Granada shall I haste 

With spurs that bleed at every thrust, 
Till mad at noontide in the desert's waste 

I swoon amid the dust ! 



IV 

ZORAYA 

There came by night a northern cavalier 
Beneath her terrace when the moon was 
young, 
And she, the fond Sultana, bent to hear 
A serenade no Moslem youth had sung, 
no 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

She stirred — but at her lips the Sultan 
yearned 
And half-asleep entwined her fingers 
tight. 
Till soon where down the gr»*/ >*ic path- 
way turned 
She heard the horseman pass into the 
night. 

There came by night though moons waxed 
bleak and old 
No other voice to sing like his again; 
The fountains splashed through marbles 
stained with gold; 
Till dawn she heard the nightingale 
complain. 

But day by day adown her mirador 

She watched the mountain flocks and 
herdsmen pass; 

Smiling she fed her parrot o'er and o'er, — 
But ah, who taught it thus to sigh, Alas ? 



Ill 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

V 

The Market Place 

There strode a Bedouin through the mar- 
ket place 

A frown like some archangel's on his face ; 
And as each merchant spread his richest 
ware, 

His silver woofs and gold, his jewelled 
lace, 
His gems of Samarkand, his perfumes 
rare, — 

He cast them off: — "Unworthy glance of 
mine — 

All these she hath, nor doth she cease to 
pine!" 

Then whispered him his slave-boy from 

Cashmere: — 
"Master of life, thou hast seen all things 

here. 
Yet since no trinket, pearl, nor vesture 

seems 
Of worth for her whom thou dost hold so 

dear, — 

112 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

I know hard-by a little booth of dreams 
Wherein a gentle scribe of Persia writes 
Such fond ghazals as bring the heart de- 
lights." 

In vain were gilt and santal'd case un- 
rolled 

"Songs like to these she hath in heaps un- 
told; 
What ho! some witch, some scholar of 
the East, 

With spells for sale for good Tunisian 
gold!" 
Then at his cloak plucked Ishmael the 
priest, 

And whispered, — "Lay beneath her feet 
thy pride ; 

'Tis with the meek of heart that love and 
Allah bide." 



VI 

The Caravan 

Dawn o'er the mountain is shaking 
The day in a petalled shower; 

113 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

Hark, the Granada is waking 
Under Alhambra's tower I 

Up and away, O comrades mine,— 
The muezzin calls the hour ! 



Why should we linger while roses 
And tangerines blossom and fade, 

Yet never her gate uncloses? 

Too long are my hopes betrayed, — 

Up and away, O comrades mine, 
My heart's last plea is made I 

She only of all in Granada 

Is careless that we part; 
See, round each grey posada 

Friend clasps friend to his heart; 
Up and away, O comrades mine. 

Our caravan must start. 

Home where the roses of Tunis, 
The lilies of Yemen, are fair; 

O'er the sea where the silver moon is 
Blanched on our white walls there,- 

Up and away, O comrades mine. 
To the golden domes of prayer. 
114 



ALHAMBRA SONGS 

To Oran by the coast, — ^to the cities 
That jewel the desert sands, 

Where night shall be filled with pities — 
Dawn hold peace in its hands, — 

Up and away, O comrades mine, 
Let us home to our boyhood's lands. 

Steed of my soul, — art thou neighing 
At scent of the sea ? — All in vain, 

Comrades, I keep you delaying, — 
Part we here, — say farewell once 
again,— 

Up and away, O comrades mine, — 
Let me turn back to her, and remain ! 

Seek ye the haunts that we cherished. 
Where day hath the burnish of gold, 

But forget not, alas, how I perished, 
And at times let my story be told, — 

Up and away, O comrades mine. 
Where the desert tents unfold. 



115 



SUNDOWN 

As the rose of the day lies dying 

With its petals strewn over the sea, 
A sail floats down from the low-eaved town 

And the salt, green stretch of the lea ; 
While the breeze like a lover sighing 

Steals after its silvery crest, 
And the sun delays with his tenderest rays 

In a last caress on its breast. 

Then flutters out from the gloaming 

Where the lamps on the shore awake 
A butterfly caught with the amorous 
thought 
That the sail could be fond for its sake. 
Thus in vain were the lights of the homing 
When our hearts made their voyage of 
tears, 
Where the white wings call and the rose- 
leaves fall 
On the stream of the vanished years. 
ii6 



THE CHARIOTEER'S GRAVE 

In Tarragona where the waves 

Break on a harbour of imperial graves 

Within the archaic Palace stands 

A figure carved, the palm-branch in its 

hands, 
And this inscription scrolled around: 
"Victim of fever; I am in the ground; 

QUINTUS THE VICTOR CHARIOTEER; 

Would I had died within the circus 

CHEER." 



117 



AFTER RAINFALL 

The thrush starts singing down the road 
Between the orchard and the shore, 

Rejoicing from his green abode 
That now the rain at last is o'er. 

Upon a rock he marks me pass, 

Shrugging his feathers free of dew, 

Then darts into the shining grass 
And plucks a dainty worm in view. 

Then he and I forget the storm 
That held us prisoners so long; 

He gloating on his captured worm, 
I jotting down this laughing song. 



Ii8 



PASTORALE AFTER 
MENDELSSOHN 

Pipe, mellow reed, once more the ancient 
plaint 
Wherewith the close-cropped slopes of 
Arcady 
Were resonant; pipe the sweet airs and 
faint 
That lovers' griefs have taught you, now 
for me. 

The moist-eyed stars arch 'round me 
questioning 
What lovely stripling now has come to 
sighs ; 
But you, dark mists, close o'er me as I 
sing 
Lest they my humble shepherd mien 
despise. 

Would'st thou behold still other lovers' 
tears, 
Red moon, arising on the cloudy plain? 
119 



AFTER MENDELSSOHN 

What note of mine can please thy careless 
ears 
That heard the sweet complaints of gods 
in vain I 

My heavy fingers stumble on the reed, — 
My voice can barely rise a sigh above; 

'Tis not the singer's wreath for which I 
plead, 
O cruel night, take pity, 'tis for love 1 



I20 



STABAT MATER SPECIOSA 

From the Thirteenth Century Latin, as- 
scribed to Jacopone da Todi 

Stood the lovely Mother smiling 
By the Manger where beguiling 

Lay her little one at rest; 
All her soul its gladness voicing; 
As the gleam of her rejoicing 

Swept across her gentle breast. 

O how joyous she, The Blessed 
And Immaculate, caressed 

Him that was her only Son! 
How her heart exulted for Him — 
How she bent enraptured o'er Him, 

Born of her, The Holy One! 

Who is there that contemplating 
Christ's own Mother jubilating 

Would not share in such a joy? 
Who beholding could be other 

121 



STABAT MATER SPECIOSA 

Than entranced with Christ's own Mother 
Fondling her Immortal Boy. 

Through the sins of man, His creatures, 
She beholds the Christ-Child's features 

'Mid the breathing kine and cold; 
Sees her darling born deploring; 
And the place of His adoring 

But a miserable fold. 

"Born is Christ within a stable!" 
Hark, the joy immensurable — 

Heaven's townfolk sing around! 
There anear the Maid the Elder 
Stood in silence and beheld her. 

Wondering with her at the sound. 

Would, O Mother, — Love-Fount tender! 
Thou to me wouldst ardour render 

So my breast might glow as thine ! 
Till my heart for love inflaming 
Might be also made unblaming 

For His gentle head divine. 

Blessed Mother — thou art playing 
Just as though no wounds are staying 

122 



STABAT MATER SPECIOSA 

To be fixed upon thy heart; 
Of thy Son the heaven-descended 
To the Manger unattended — 

Of His sorrows, grant me part! 

Grant me all my life's full measure 
Jesukin that I may treasure 

Gladly on my breast to strain: 
Fervor like to thine to fill me, 
Grant thine Infant's arms to thrill me 

Whilst in exile I remain! 

Virgin of all Virgins Fairest, — 
Nay, withhold not Him thou bearest, 

Let thy Babe of Paradise 
By my arms be soft surrounded — 
Him, — whose birth hath Death con- 
founded 

At the Final Sacrifice ! 

Grant, as thine, to slake my yearning, 
With thy Child in rapture turning 

In the joyous surge of grace; 
All inflamed and love-enkindled — ■ 
Every mortal impulse dwindled — 

Let me share in such embrace. 
123 



STABAT MATER SPECIOSA 

Hark ye, — all ye Manger lovers, 
Shepherds leave your watchful covers — 

Join the Voices of the Night I 
He in taking birth hath heard you; 
Chant, and, with His Chosen, gird you 

For the Fatherland of Light! 

When thy Son hath ta'en and healed me, 
And the Word of God doth shield me, 

Grant I be confirmed in Grace ! 
When the body's life is ended, 
Be my soul by thee attended 

To the Vision of His Face ! 



124 



CASTLES 

A LONELY soul in every breast 

Where wastes of humankind unrolled; 

A castle set on every crest 

With moat and battlement of old. 

And word came forth from the new- 
crowned King: — 
"Cast down your walls — your feuds re- 
sign ; 
My peace to all the realm I bring, 
For I am Love, and ye are Mine." 

But some within their donjons sate 

And forged the arms their fathers bore, 

The pride, the greed, the craft, the hate, — 
As though they still might thrive by war. 



125 



THE ATONEMENT OF FERO- 
DACH THE KING 

From "The Penances of Colum" 

High in his crystal-lighted grianan 
King Ferodach lay dying; round the couch 
To glad him they had piled his glittering 

hoard 
Of mighty weapons forged for other 

hands, 
Of crusted crowns, of torques and amu- 
lets, 
Goblets and brooches. Ah, for their bright 

sake 
How many a province had he razed and 

burnt ! 
How many a burgh and dun bedrenched in 

blood!— 
But hark, amid his very death-throes came 
His sons all breathless crying, "Away! 

Away! 

126 



ATONEMENT OF FERODACH 

Our foes, Clan Connla come ! Away with 
all 

The treasure chests, and cheat their hun- 
gry grasp!" 
Then groaned the king: "Stir not this 

leprous gold; 
Too many a noble house has wailed for it. 
Stiff in their mounds are they who bore 

these shields, 
And moved these golden chessmen on the 

board. 
See, on yon voiceless harps the strings hang 

loose 
Where once their soulful fingers joyed to 

glide ! 
'These goblets, emptied of their royal 

draught 
Poured for the sons of song! Unfed, un- 

warmed, 
The cleric left my door, — yea, see, to-night 
No poor man comes to weep or pray for 

me! 
So get ye gone and leave me here to 

God!—" 
They left him with the gold upon his brow, 
127 



ATONEMENT OF FERODACH 

His sword beside him, his great shield of 

bronze 
Laid down his breast. The light of cresset 

lamps 
Played through the jewels on his ashen 

hands, 
And from the polished vessels heaped 

around 
Gleamed back a thousand eyes mysterious. 
There all night long he cried to God, — 

"Thy scourge 
Is grievous, but Thy law is just! Behold, 
Lest Thou exact my ransom past the grave. 
Behold, I render up my spoils of blood. 
Beseeching Thy great mercy ! — " 

Soon the light 
Of a grey eye looked over Ossory, — 
It was the morn, and at the sunrise came 
Clan Connla's henchmen, and hacked off 
his head. 

For Lloyd R. Morris 



128 



TO A YOUNG POET 

There are two portals set before thy 
heart, 
O poet yet uncrowned, — 
One reared in radiant noon, the other 
bound 
In rust and gloom apart. 

Round one, with sway of civic chant and 
chime 
Wind throngs of youths and maids 
With garlands through the soaring col- 
onnades 
In Druid rite sublime. 

The lictors pass, the harvest hymns are 
sung, 
High flame the hero pyres. 
While hands prophetic sweep the sacred 
lyres 
Of hope forever young. 
129 



TO A YOUNG POET 

But where the other postern lurks below 

Amid the briar and weed, 

White bones lay strewn and venomed 
monsters feed 
Beneath the marshlamp's glow. 

There stealthy murmurs, cheeks like snow- 
drift, call 
Thy fevered senses out, — 
Far pulse of dancing feet and satyr 
shout. 
Vague breasts that heave and fall. 

There madness waits, — O heart, thy mis- 
sion own 
Among the sons of day! 
Forth with the throngs upon the sunlit 
way, — 
Walk not the fens alone 1 



130 



A GRANNY 

The cross her withered fingers hold 
Within the coffin is not gold, 
But since she pressed it day and night 
Against her lips 'twas burnished bright; 
Until the imaged Crucified 
Took her soft whisper as she died. 
Now as she lies there all her years 
So filled with failures, and with tears 
Grow half unreal; all her prayers. 
The simple solace of her cares. 
Yet on her lips; her mother-love 
Surrendered only for a Heart Above. 
Outside is spring with the song of bird 
Between the vendors' outcries heard; 
For town with country-side competes 
Along the old-time suburb's street. 
Where many a recent dweller eyes 
The dusty coaches with surprise. 
Then, while the quavering organ plays 
Its solemn chant of ancient days, 
131 



A GRANNY 

Fresh from the parish school, the choir 
Of children lisp Death's office dire; 
And the sly, tousled, altar-boys 
Use the big book and bell like toys. 
Thus, candles flickering o'er her head, 
Her hurried Requiem is said; 
And Dies Irae sung once more. 
They take her out the narrow door; 
The few old neighbours kneel around, 
Then leave her in the blessed ground. — 
How few that artless life bemoan 
Which erred in tenderness alone ! 
Long was its humble course of pain 
Through prayers, and tears, and prayers 

again. 
Until her seared and whitened head 
Felt the Great Dawning without dread. 
O Love Eternal, — stand'st thou too apart? 
Here was Thy meek, Thy trusting, stain- 
less heart. 



132 



BALLADE FOR THE SIXTH 
HOUR 

Good masters of the market-place, 
I pray you cease your cries, and hear 

The pilgrim messages of grace 

From holy lands I bring your earl 
Nay, pass not so, fair cavalier, 

Nor thou, my lady. In thy pride, — 
No alms I ask beyond a tear — 

For such as you my Saviour died. 

Yea, pause and hear me, woman frail, 
Whose jewels have the gleam of shame; 

For thee, thou crone In rags, my tale, — 
For thee, thou foundling without name, 
For you as well, proud priests, the 
same — 

Yea, clown and courtier, ere ye ride, 
Draw rein and answer, was It blame 

For such as you my Saviour died? 

Nay, tears before the minster gate, 
Ye blind, ye aged, and ye sore? — 

133 



BALLADE FOR THE SIXTH HOUR 

Up ! — 'tis your festival of state, 
So get ye in the sacred door, 
And raise the cry until it roar 

By every strand and mountain side, 
From turret peak to dungeon's core, — > 

For such as you my Saviour died! 

Prince, — from thy galleries look down 
Upon our soiled and ribald tide. 

And hear me — spite thy haughty 
frown — 
For such as you my Saviour died. 



134 



TO AN IRISH TERRIER 

Rough is your coat and sharp the bite and 
bark 
Your giant jaws can give in an alarm; 
Swift as you are to rush into the fight, 
Your heart is swifter to be soft and 
warm. 

There are about you sensitive soft ways 
As of the ancient heroes of the Gael; 

Your eye is melting kind or all ablaze ; 
You have been never known to blench 
or quail. 

Just as the tenderness some gruff old friend 
Will stealthy show us, you are dear in- 
deed; 

Faithful and rough and Irish to the end 
In answer to our call and every need. 



135 



APRIL TWENTY-THIRD 

Death sallied forth upon this fateful day 
Through Spain and England for a mighty 

prey, 
And struck two masters with a single blow 
And laid Cervantes and Will Shakespeare 

low I 
Two Captains in the very front of Fame, 
A valiant pair without a touch of shame, 
They laid them down contented both to go, 
Leaving behind the life all letters know : — 
Don Quixote's dreams and follies for the 

wise, — 
Hamlet and Lear and many another prize 
For thoughtful youth and unforgetting age 
Ranged at the footlights of a magic 

stage. — 
But when the two great master-ghosts did 

hark 
Together on the shore where Charon's 

bark 

136 



APRIL TWENTY-THIRD 

Came feebly plashing for so grand a 

freight, 
Cervantes sweeping a salute of state 
Said, "Here must you precede me, Master 

Will!" 
And Shakespeare bowed: "You are Don 

Quixote still." 



137 



QUIS DESIDERIO 

Dark and vast are Thine outer walls, 

O King of Light! 
Weary the desert, lo, the parched wind 
crawls 

Toward the pools of night. 
Over Thy close there is music stealing. 

Is it Thy revel. Lord, or the calls 
Of my childhood's dreaming? Is it the 
pealing 

Of angel spires, or the fever's blight? 

Some rose immortal there must bloom 

By fountains clear, 
That waves of such ineffable perfume 

Should reach me here! 
Cool on my brows I feel their sprinkle, 

Here in the dusk of my outer gloom 
Where the stars themselves seem drops 
that tvv' inkle 

In truant spray o'er the sky wastes sheer. 
138 



QUIS DESIDERIO 

Their hyssop melts through my soul. Per- 
chance 
She scatters there 
Some old love-sign, some token, — she, 
whose glance 
Makes consecrate and rare 
Life's dawns and twilights, — whose worn 

hands inploring 
Are constant raised 'mid all Thy joys' 

expanse 
For me remembered still in her adoring, — 
She of the silvered, even-parted hair ! 



139 



QUATRAINS 

The Message 

The North wind came and to the Maples 
said, 
"My soul takes pity on the Butterfly; 
So do you, shrouded in her gold and red, 
O Maples, warn her that she too must 
die." 

Largess 

Up to his mosque, lo. Time the Sultan 
passed 
Between the beggar Months around the 
gate, 
And in October's lap superbly cast 
His golden largess and went in elate. 

The Silver-Birch 

I heard throughout the woods' seraglio 
The Sultan Autumn's widows tell their 
woe; 

140 



QUATRAINS 

And saw the Frost-King enter In his pride 
And choose the Silver-Birch alone for 
bride. 

On Japanese Paper 

The while afar some ancient crows intone 
Their incantations 'mid the marshes 
blight, 
A spectre moon steals up the void alone 
With but one star to prove that it is 
night. 

The Angel at the Tomb 

Within his eyes the glory lingering clear 
Dims all his vesture's snowy glistening; 

Voice of the lily cry, "He is not here 
But risen!" and let the rose-mouths lisp 
of Spring! 



141 



MOTHER MOST POWERFUL 

After Giovanni Dominici, 1^^6-1420 

That thou so often held Him in thine 
arms, — 
So often pressed His infant lips to thine, 
And in thy bosom warded off the harms 
That came with flesh e'en to the Child 
Divine ; 
That thou couldst clothe Him, — feel Him 
cheek to cheek 
In dreams and waking, — at thine ear 
hast known 
His first lisped, "Mother," — watched His 
soft hands seek 
Thine aid — with glances cast on thee 
alone ; — 
That thou couldst know such countless ec- 
stasies. 
Of love through that sweet hidden time 
of yore — 

142 



MOTHER MOST POWERFUL 

And yet thy heart held strong through all 
of these — 
Shows thou wert mortal, — Mother, — 
yea, and morel 



143 



THE EMBERS SPEAK 

I WAS the acorn that fell 

From the autumn bough 

In the warm earth to dwell; 

I grew to a branch somehow 

And I waved in the nightly storm 

And sheltered the kine 

When the hills were yellow and warm 

With the noon divine 

I too 'mid the sheathing moss 

Felt the axe's blow 

And fell with a thunderous loss 

Of the stars I know 

And the clouds that sift no more 

Through my shattered limbs, 

Save where the hearthstones roar 

And the dying ember dims. 



144 



FRIAR LAURENCE O'FARRELL.— 
LONGFORD, 1651 

The van of Ireton's troops at morning 
broke 

On Longford Town, swept up the sluggard 
few 

That had not fled, and hemmed the Abbey 
round. 

Dragging two Preachers from the altar- 
side — 

Friar Bernard whom they hacked unto his 
death. 

And Friar Laurence whom they haled be- 
fore 

Their chief upon his entry to the Town. 

"So here you are, O'Farrell," Ireton 
cried, — 

Caught like a wild thing on your native 
plains, — 

You whom they speak in wonder of at 
Rome 

And Salamanca, you their man of strength 

145 



FRIAR LAURENCE O'FARRELL 

When Catholic Armies gathered in the 

land!" 
And Friar Laurence answered, "Lo, the 

Lord 
Hath given and the Lord hath taken away I 
But you, my Colonel, have the courtesy 
Not to prolong my torments. Send me on 
To join my brothers in the better world." 
"Nay, not too fast, young friar; we shall 

hear 
Some of your reasons and philosophies 
Before you leave us. Godly men as we 
Should join in converse, and who knows, 

in prayer — 
Ere you can claim your martyr-crown of 

us." 
Thus for three days they held him, while 

the smoke 
And rapine spread around the plains afar, 
And treason played its game of blood, till 

word 
Was brought O'Farrell that his lurking 

kin 
Among the hillocks looked with very dread 
In one another's eyes, hearing a friar 
Of Longford was so safe in Ireton's tents. 
146 



FRIAR LAURENCE O'FARRELL 

What dread apostacy was here? they 

asked. 
Then he that held the weary officers 
Half-subject to the grace his person 

breathed, 
Attent upon his words of argument, 
Sudden put off the charm and crudely 

urged 
His points until at last indignantly 
They led him forth amid the silent troops 
To execution. On the ladder steps 
He stood and saw his ancient flock 

assembled, 
And bidding them farewell, his rosary 
Around his neck, his cross within his hands. 
He signed the executioner to act. 
Then as his body swung upon the air 
The onlookers in their amazement saw 
The crucifix he held upraised above 
His head in triumph and in blessing 

there. — 
In the great silence that ensued they took 
The body down, and with safe-conduct 

granted 
By Ireton gave it formal burial 

147 



IN A GARDEN OF GRANADA 

The city rumour rises all the day 

Across the potted plants along the wall; 
The sun and winds upon the slopes hold 
sway, 
Tossing the dust and shadows in a 
squall. 

The sun is old and weary — weary here 
Upon the ageing roofs and miradors, 

The broken terraces and basins drear 
Where each old bell its ancient echoes 
pours. 

Ringing — what memories to ring — to 
those 
That linger here — the lizard and the 
cat, 
That haunt these solitudes in state morose 
Through the long day their silent habi- 
tat. 

Untroubled, — save when in the moonlight 
steals 

148 



IN A GARDEN OF GRANADA 

Some voice in song across the lower 
wall, 
And sudden magic each old rafter feels, 
The while the echoes round it rise and 
fall. 

For as the wail of love or sorrow rings 
Along the night soft steps are on the 
stair 
And pathway; in the broken window 
wings 
Are stirring, and white arms are loUing 
there. 

And that old rose tree lifts its head anew, 
And there is perfume o'er the hills afar, 

From where Alhambra's crescent cleaves 
the blue 
To where agleam Genii and Darro are. 

O Voice ! — what is thy necromantic word 

That all Granada waits adown the 

years? 

Is it the sound some love-swept night has 

heard? — 

The cry of love amid the cry of tears? — 

For Jose Maria Restrepo Milldn. 
149 



ZAPHNA OF BATUSHKOFF 

After the Russian 

The storm is over; from the rifting blue 
The sun appears beyond the western 
field 
Where now the freshet breaks its channel 
through 
Exulting wildly. See, a rose would yield 
Her tribute to thy hand, dear Zaphna ; and 
see 
How from the rock beneath the palm 
tree there 
The white cascade is hurried noisily 

Within the grove with dash of foam and 
blare. 
Thy presence, Zaphna, seems to light the 
glen; 
Sweet hast thou sung the songs of love 
to me 
Over and over and the breeze again 
150 



ZAPHNA OF BATUSHKOFF 

Borne them on gentle pinions far from 
thee. 
Thy voice, beloved, like the breath of 
morn 
Sounds through the blossoms glistening 
everywhere; 
Ah, turbid stream, cease now thy clamour- 
ous scorn 
As on thou sweepst with dashing foam 
and blare ! 
Zaphna, thou blushest? — Ah, sweet inno- 
cence, 
Come press to mine those lips of coral 
rare; 
And thou lone streamlet, guard our confi- 
dence 
As on thou sweepst with dashing foam 
and blare. 
Look now, fair Zaphna, where afloat upon 

The tide a rosemary is borne away; 
On glides the current, — soon the flower Is 
gone, — 
My own, and think'st thou Time less 
swift than they? 
Ah, though to-day yon ring-doves passion- 
ate 

151 



ZAPHNA OF BATUSHKOFF 

Gaze down on us in envy, Time will bear 
Youth and its charm away and — deso- 
late — 
The stream will sweep no more with 
foam and blare. 



152 



THE NIGHT OF THE KINGS 

The chieftains and druids of Uladh would 
clothe him in samite and gold 

And set him on high at the feastings when 
sagas of kings would be told, — 

The battles, and courtships, and forays, — 
the boast of their fathers of old. 

Till one night as they crouched by their 
targes ere dawn lit the spears on the 
plain 

They called for Donn-Bo : "Let the watch- 
ing of kings be made glad with his 
strain!" 

And he came o'er the armies of Uladh 
with blessings and love in his train. 

But he pleaded, — "High-King of Emafia, 
a boon for thy minstrel, a boon, — 

Grant but silence to-night ere the battle, — 
be glad with thy hounds and buffoon, 

And to-morrow Donn-Bo shall proclaim 
thee with music at rise of the moon." 

153 



THE NIGHT OF THE KINGS 

They quaffed the red mead till the chariots 

at dawn over Uladh were hurled; 
With the nightfall they gathered afar 

where the shreds of their war-cloaks 

were furled ; 
And they pined for Donn-Bo, but he came 

not, though moonlight was white on 

the world. 

Clenched deep in his wounds was each fe- 
tish, the druid's enchantment was 
long: — 

"O kings that were once over Uladh, — ye 
breasts that heaved haughty and 
strong ! — 

At dawn to the grasp of the hireling goes 
the beauty of life and the song!" 

Then arose the rough Chief of Clan Conn- 
la: *'Never yet hath the lad spoken 
lie, — 

I shall forth through the marches and 
seek him!" — Yea, there, out afar lay 
awry — 

A white corpse by the King of Emaiia — 
Donn-Bo, like a star from the sky. 
154 



THE NIGHT OF THE KINGS 

And around them the winds made the mu- 
sic they took from his harp-strings of 
yore, — 

Unhushed, though the hand of Clan Conn- 
la snatched the fair, severed head 
from the gore, 

As it moaned, "Stir me not till the dawn- 
ing when the rime for my king will be 
o'er!" 

But Clan Connla made answer: — "The 

war-chiefs of Uladh are waiting their 

share." 
And bearing it off by the tresses, he bade 

it to chant for them there 
In the light of the torches, set high on a 

pillar, its rann of despair. 

O never such story and music shall come 
from the minstrels of men, 

As the mouth of Donn-Bo the beloved gave 
forth in its wizardry then I — 

Never shall chieftains and druids sit round 
at such feasting again I 



155 



H 18 89 



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HECKMAN IXI 

BINDERY INC. |§| 

# DEC 88 
N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 







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